“If she doesn’t shut up, I’m going to puke,” Scrapper whispered to Boudicca. Nobody on the Legion side appeared to be paying much attention to the speaker. I wondered when all the nonsense would end. I hadn’t joined the Legion to watch negotiations with a gang of ugly Systies. I hated this. I liked things simple.
Gravelight set down her mug of ice water carefully, her eyes closed. The Systie female droned on. Gravelight reached one hand over and clutched Val’s s arm. Her eyes were still closed, but her face shone. Even from the monitor, I could tell Gravelight had something important. A faint, angelic smile touched her lips. “Yesss…,” she said. We used sound suppressors so not even the most sophisticated listening devices could pick up her words. Unfortunately, they might be able to read lips.
She trembled visibly. “We must leave. Now!”
“What is it?” Val asked.
Gravelight opened her eyes, dreamily. She stood and shakily started for the door.
We regrouped in the assault craft. Gravelight sipped a cup of ice water and told us what she had. “It’s been with me for a day, just on the edge. I knew it was there, but I wasn’t quite able to focus on it. But I have it now. It was one of the Systie visitors, yesterday morning. You remember there was a little group of VIP’s that slithered in for a few marks, spoke with the chief rep, and then slithered out.”
“Yes, I remember. Mocains, Ormans and a few Coldmarkers.”
“It was one of the Ormans, sloppy security, I suppose. I’d bet he was not supposed to be here. But probably so high-ranking that nobody dared challenge him.”
“What did you get?”
No one breathed.
Gravelight closed her eyes again, to recapture it. “A ship…an assault craft, landing on Coldmark. A cold, grim female…a fighter, a Mocain, contemptuous of Ormans. Fear and hate from the Orman. High security, Systie commandos with SGs. And a captive angel…a golden angel. Fear from the Orman. Deadman’s holy death, it’s Valkyrie. There is only a flash, just a flash. But it’s her! It’s our angel, Val. Our angel! She doesn’t belong on Coldmark, in the mud. She belongs with us, in the space between the stars.”
It occurred to me that we were lucky Boudicca wasn’t with us right now. We’d never have been able to restrain her long enough to let Gravelight finish.
Val almost gushed, “Bless you, Gravelight-you’ve done it! What else? What else?”
“Yes…there’s more. Her name…the Mocain girl’s name…Millina, that’s it, Millina, she’s evil. And she knows!”
“Knows what?”
“Everything! She knows about the operation on Andrion 2. That’s what the Orman thought. We’ve got to find her!”
“Where is she?”
“Good question.” Gravelight put down her cup. “Somewhere on Coldmark, I guess. I have no idea. Try looking into an Orman sometime…it’s like a snake pit.”
Val took Gravelight’s hand and squeezed it. Gravelight returned the squeeze, and they sat there, hand in hand. It sure looked like there was something developing between Gravelight and Val, but I knew psychers didn’t mix with deadheads.
“Bless you, Eighty-eight. Bless you,” Val said.
“I’m glad I was able to help,” she replied.
Chapter 18: Worshipping Red Gods
“Alert! Beta to the aircar! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” The shriek of the red alert caught me in the shower in the assault craft, downside in Coldmark Port. I almost knocked myself cold bouncing against a wall on the way to the assault craft’s door. I snatched up undies, litepants and boots on the run, danced into my pants, and seized someone’s coldcoat from the ready room.
As the door to the assault craft snapped open, we ran out and our aircar approached us, hovering in icy air under a starry sky. The horizon glowed a red dawn. The car’s door hissed open and we hurtled in heads over heels like a squad of acrobats. Redhawk laughed hysterically.
“Count!” Snow Leopard shouted, his hair wild, face flushed, pink eyes burning.
“…Warhound, Dragon, Priestess-all here! Go!” Coolhand responded, and the assault doors slammed shut and we blasted off into the sky, a power climb. A wild tangle of equipment and people slid down the aisle to the rear.
“Ah! Get off me.” I had fallen on top of someone.
“They told me this was a ‘come as you are’ affair,” Coolhand said. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“It’s pretty cold out there. You’d better find a shirt,” I said, struggled to pull on my coldcoat.
“What’s the sit?” Coolhand asked.
“All right, this is it,” Snow Leopard said. He unwrapped a crumpled print, then turned suddenly on the pilot. “Do you have the cords?”
“Big ten! We’re ahead of Gamma!”
“Good! All right. Wait!” His head snapped up again. “E’s and comtops! Now!”
Psycho tore open the storage bins and began tossing out E’s and comtops. We grabbed them eagerly. I was working on my boots.
“Take a look! It’s got to be Valkyrie!” Snow Leopard held up the printout and we crowded around to see it. It was a recon shot from directly overhead. It showed what appeared to be the tiled roof of a large temple or palace. The roof glistened in the first rays of the dawn. A blue tile roof, draped with long strips of red cloth fluttering in the morning breeze. The strips were arranged in a peculiar pattern-a Legion cross!
A blood red Legion cross, draped across those blue tiles on the top of the temple. Deadman’s doom! That was Valkyrie all right! No doubt about that at all! A rush of hope shot through my arteries. I had my boots on now. I zipped up the coldcoat and checked my E. We’re on the way, Valkyrie! We’re on the way!
“Flash-Beta, Gamma, in the drop.”
“Get those comtops on! Tac mode! Now!” We snapped them over our heads and everything started to come together. Snow Leopard was still talking.
“All right, there’s the map. It’s a monastery complex. She’s in there someplace. Probably not in the building with the cross, it seems to be open, probably a temple. We’re in first, then Gamma…”
“Beta, Gamma!” Gamma was calling us.
“Go!”
“You take the west, we’ll take the east. We got dibs on the one with the cross.”
“Tenners!” It was not much of an ops plan, but it would have to do.
“They’re right behind us!” I craned my neck, and Gamma’s aircar glittered in the dawn behind us, leaving a frosty contrail in its wake. We headed west, the sun rising behind us. I turned to face front. A cold range of mountains lined the horizon against a blue-black sky. I snapped down the faceplate and clutched my E close to my chest. I felt no need for a mag, none at all.
Snow Leopard summarized. “If it moves and it doesn’t have blonde hair, kill it.”
“Tenners.”
“I don’t want a single door standing when we’re through. She’s there, and we find her! And get out fast! That’s the mission!”
“I’ll do deceptors and red smoke.” Redhawk’s hand hovered over the launch triggers. He had the maps stuck to the plex.
“Do it!” Snow Leopard ordered. The monastery complex appeared ahead on the horizon among the peaks, grey clouds slowly dissolving, a line of shadowy buildings materializing like a kingdom in the sky, floating magically in morning mists, the light of the dawn touching tall spires and illuminating great towers of pink stone. With a sudden flash we launched our missiles and watched the contrails as they streaked ahead.
“Red smoke and deceptors, Gamma.”
“Tenners.”
The morning burst over the monastery, a searing white flash and a multiple crack, a mini-nova, shattering the sky. A huge cloud of phospho-pink airburst over the complex and blinding fingers of flame shot down like hot hail, ricocheting everywhere. The bright pink smoke rolled around wildly and enveloped the entire complex in its grip. Streaks of lightning cracked wildly throughout the cloud, red-hot lances.
“Deceptor, smoke. On target. Approaching target, prep for decar.”